After failing to save the eastern ward, I spend days seeking for answers in the royal library. Balthren supplies ancient manuscripts about magical balance, but they're painfully ambiguous. Everyone works with grim determination—guards fortify the weakened barriers, healers manage the shadow-touched, and I urgently try to strengthen the surviving gardens.
I haven't seen Thorne since the attack. The prince has sequestered himself, refusing to utilize his power even when informed it would be essential. According to Elm, he's secluded himself in the royal observatory, examining star charts and antique maps as though seeking an answer written in the heavens.
A week after the eastern breach, I find myself alone in the frost flower garden far beyond dark. The young hybrid flowers shine faintly in the moonlight, neither entirely thriving nor totally dying—existing in some weird stage between winter and spring. I touch one gingerly, wondering if these unbelievable blooms hold the key we need.
"They're beautiful."
I flinch at Thorne's voice. He stands at the edge of the garden, looking haggard and weary. The regal mask has slipped away, revealing a young man overwhelmed by the weight of a crumbling empire.
"I didn't think you'd come back to the gardens," I reply softly.
"I couldn't stay away," he says, moving carefully among the beds. "Not from this... not from you."
My heart stutters at his words. "Have you found anything in your research?"
"Nothing useful." His glittering eyes reflect the moonlight as he kneels beside me. "But I keep thinking about these frost blossoms. They shouldn't exist—winter and spring magic have always been separate, competing energies. Yet here they are."
"Maybe they're not meant to be separate," I offer, the thought formulating as I speak. "Maybe they're two halves of the same whole, like..."
"Like what?" he says as I hesitate.
"Like us," I whisper.
The garden seems to still be around us. Even the night wind pauses as Thorne's gaze meets with mine.
"I've been afraid," he says, voice barely audible. "When we connected and the power surged—it felt natural in a way nothing ever has. But every time I utilize my strength, the blight worsens."
I grab for his hand, but he jerks away.
"You don't comprehend. My wizardry is killing the kingdom."
"No," I answer firmly. "The imbalance is killing the kingdom. Your magic isn't wicked, Thorne. It's just incomplete."
He looks at me with such naked desperation that my heart aches. "How can you be sure?"
"These." I gesture to the frost blossoms. "They require both winter and spring to exist. They're proof that our magics aren't supposed to oppose each other."
His shoulders droop as though shedding a burden he's held too long. "I've tried so hard to be what Thornwall needs. To be cold and calculating when necessary. To suffer the whispers and loathing."
"And you've done it alone," I reply, reaching out again. This time, he doesn't pull away when I hold his hand. "But you don't have to anymore."
The minute our fingers meet, the frost flowers around us vibrate with light. Thorne's eyes expand in surprise.
"It's always been you," he whispers. "From the minute you arrived, the gardens began to respond. I thought it was simply your talent, but it's more than that."
He reaches up, hesitating before lightly stroking my cheek with his fingertips. Frost patterns dance across my skin, but they don't burn with cold—they thrill with an exciting energy that flows through my blood.
"Does that hurt?" he says, voice tight with concern.
I shake my head, leaning into his touch. "It feels like... possibility."
The frost patterns bloom as little white flowers wherever his fingers stroke my skin. Thorne watches in awe as his winter magic morphs under my influence.
"I never thought I could create," he says. "Only preserve and protect through cold."
"That's what we've all been taught—that winter destroys and spring creates. But look." I point to where frost patterns spiral from his fingers, producing lovely ice flowers in their wake. "Your magic can create too, when balanced properly."
Something changes in his eyes—hope breaking through the sadness like the first rays of morning after the longest night. Before I can speak again, he moves forward and puts his lips to mine.
The kiss starts tentative, uncertain—the touch of a man who has denied himself tenderness for years. Then something breaks loose within him. His arms wrap around me, pulling me closer as the kiss intensifies with an intensity that steals my breath.
Around us, the garden explodes into magnificent life. Frost blossoms proliferate and develop, their branches rising skyward and unfurling new buds that soon open. Silver-white light pours from every plant, putting our shadows against the garden walls like dancers caught in an unending embrace.
When we finally split, breathless and shaking, the entire frost bloom garden has transformed. What were once little, hesitant blossoms are now powerful, vivid plants stretching for the night sky.
Thorne glances at me with awe. "I've never felt warm before," he breathes against my lips. "Not until you."
I follow the lines of his face, remembering every detail revealed in the silver radiance. "This is what the kingdom needs—balance. Not one magic dominating, but both operating in unison."
He puts his forehead to mine. "I've been battling this—fighting us—because I was terrified of what it signified. That everything I've been taught about royal magic was false."
"Not wrong," I correct softly. "Incomplete."
A sound from the far side of the garden breaks the moment—a guard yelling Thorne's name with emphasis. The prince straightens, his royal mask falling back into place, but not completely. Something has fundamentally changed.
"Prince Thorne!" The guard appears, bowing hastily. "Forgive the interruption, but Court Mage Balthren wants your presence. The western ward is showing signs of weakening."
Thorne nods sharply. "I'll come at once." When the guard retreats, he turns back to me, taking my hand firmly in his. "Come with me. I think it's time we quit hiding what we've learned."
As we run through the palace hallways, I feel the lingering warmth of his lips on mine and the promise of something I never dared hope for. For the first time since I arrived, I believe we might actually save Thornwall, Together.